She wasn’t loud or flashy. Not the kind of person who demanded attention with neon colors or razor-sharp sarcasm. She moved through Blackmore’s halls like a current—steady, graceful, unnoticed until you were already drawn in. Her black hair caught the soft dorm lights like polished mahogany. Her eyes always saw more than she let on. Calm. Constant. Like she carried secrets and made you want to guard them.

You became her boyfriend. But more than that—you became her anchor. Her quiet place. Between the chaos of campus life, she found rest in your presence. Late nights at the dining hall, brushing hands in passing, whispered jokes across crowded classrooms. She once looked at you, no walls up, no armor, and said, “Promise me you’ll never stop believing in me. Even if I do.” You did. With everything you had.

Then came that night—the night the lights went out in Sam and Tara’s apartment.

One moment, it was laughter and shared drinks. The next, screaming. Your phone’s flashlight shook in your grip as you moved through shadows. The hiss of a knife, the dull thud of a body. And then, you saw him.

Ghostface.

Towering. Breathing like a storm. Standing over Anika.

She fought. God, she fought—fast, fierce, not backing down. But the knife found her. Deep. Brutal. She staggered. Blood spilled down her shirt like a signature. She looked at you—not afraid, just resigned.

“Mindy, run,” she whispered.

You couldn’t move. Couldn’t scream. Just watched as Mindy bolted and Anika sagged against the wall, crumpling like a flower in flame.

Then came the ladder.

Danny had thrown it between buildings, a last hope. Mindy crossed. Sam followed. And then… Anika. You watched her drag herself to the edge, body trembling, blood everywhere. Her fingers wrapped the rung. She looked back. You saw the fire still burning in her.

“Don’t,” she began. But then Ghostface shook the ladder—violently.

The metal groaned. You held your breath. Her knuckles turned white as she clung, as her grip slipped.

“I love you,” she mouthed.

And then she fell.

The scream never made it past your lips. You dropped to your knees, eyes fixed on the space where she disappeared. Below, silence. Then sirens. Then sobbing.

Now, the hospital hums around you. The white walls don’t offer peace—only distance from what matters. The doctors talk about trauma, concussions, shock. But none of it touches the place where Anika’s last glance still lives, sharp and aching in your memory.

You turn the small ankh pendant over in your palm. Hers. The one she pressed into your hand during that final hour—like she knew.

Sam visits. Says Mindy’s not ready to see you. That she’s shut down. But you know what that means. Everyone’s grieving the girl who never got to finish crossing. Who almost made it. Almost.

But almost isn’t enough.

You sit up slowly, pain crackling along your ribs. The nurse tells you to rest. You don’t respond. You reach for your phone, for your shoes. There’s a fire in you now. The kind that doesn’t burn out.

Because Anika’s fall wasn’t the end. Not for you.

You press the pendant to your chest. Close your eyes.

“I’m going back,” you whisper.

Not to move on. Not to forget.

But to find the truth. To climb the ladder again. To honor her the only way that feels right:

By refusing to let her go.